RECYCLING WITH A DIFFERENCE

Recycling is a term most of us are familiar with. Over the past few years, we’ve made attempts to save the environment in every little way possible. Different cans for paper and plastic, decomposition…these are a part of our everyday. But rarely do people realize we’ve unwittingly been a part of the recycle phenomenon for the past few decades, if not more.
Consumerism is the new-age monster, the western world is desperately trying to contain, but Indians came up with a rather fool-proof solution, years ago. Some if not all will be familiar with the cries of ‘Bartanwali’ on the narrow streets every other afternoon or so. Not so much an everyday sight now- most housewives, if no one else, would be aware of the Guajarati sari/ ghagra choli clad ladies or men in traditional garbs roaming around with a basket of brand new vessels that they’d trade with you for old clothes.
Over the years though, they’ve disappeared off the streets, you don’t spot them often enough on the city streets. And for most out of sight is out of mind. In fact, people are rarely home these days, what with their busy schedules and everything and with more women opting to work, there are lesser housewives to do business with. Or so… one would imagine, is the case. But if you were to have a conversation with Meena Gopal (30), you’d know that is not necessarily the case.
The lady, a mother of two, has been in the business the past 11 years, ever since she was married. The bartanwallahs, she insists is not a community but in fact, a family business. Her husband, works out of Surat while her brother-in-law similarly trades in plastic ware in Kolhapur.
Her vessels glisten and shine in her plastic tub. I hesitantly offer Meena a pair of my old jeans and a couple of shorts. One look at them, and she refuses outright, but graciously agrees to continue with the interview. Rather picky about the clothes she accepts, she parts with her vessels carefully. ‘Market mein bikna chahiye.’(The clothes need to sell in the market). The concept might seem like a simple one, but only the most aggressive manage to snag themselves the larger looking stainless steel containers that invitingly sit in the basket. Most others end up with measly spoons and tiny bowls.
She begins her usual business rounds at a leisurely 12 or 1 p.m. and continues on until 5p.m. With no particular target to achieve, her life, she claims is a peaceful one. The clothes she collects round the week are sent off to Surat to be mended and resold on the streets and weekly markets. The vessels are bought from a wholesale dealer.
What about her kids? Would she let them continue in the business? Obviously a question she has given great thought to in the past, pat comes the reply, ‘Bacche iskool mein achha karein toh thik varna, hamare saath kam pein laga denge.’ (If the kids do well in school fine, or else they’ll be made to work with us.)
Ask her about the competition and she scoffs. ‘What competition’ she asks. She does know there is another Bartanwali who does her rounds in the opposite area but claims there is no competition as such. What about mutual marking of areas one can conduct business in…and she claims ignorance. She could conduct her rounds wherever she wishes to and no one could question her.
Inquire about the dwindling nature of this barter system and she downright refuses. ‘We aren’t going out of business anytime soon,’ she tells me in fluent Hindi before placing her basket on a carefully placed cloth holder, shyly refusing to be photographed, and walks off voicing cries of ‘bartanwali…bartanwali.’